


A Christmas Thing

by kiyala



Series: Toxic [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Depression, M/M, reference to attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Grantaire's first Christmas away from his family. No matter what else happens, that already makes it a million times better than any other Christmas he's had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Feuilly puts the Christmas tree up on the first of December. Grantaire watches silently from the couch, where he's sitting with a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. He should offer to help, should get up from the couch and make himself useful, but he doesn't know if it would be welcome. He hasn't been living with Feuilly for long, and isn't sure if this is something he prefers to do on his own, or if he's expecting Grantaire to help him with it, and the more Grantaire thinks about it, the more difficult it is to do _anything_.

Of course, because Feuilly is the good friend that he is, and understands Grantaire incredibly well, it doesn't take him long at all to pick up on this. He turns to Grantaire once the tree is standing, bare and waiting to be decorated.

"Right, well the lights go on first and I've always been absolutely shit at putting them on. Bahorel used to be in the one in charge of that." Feuilly runs a hand through his hair. "Think you could help me with them?"

"You don't have to pretend," Grantaire tells him with a small smile, getting to his feet. "You could just say, _well you're looking miserable on the couch, why don't you come make yourself useful_ , you know."

"Well, when I mean that, I'll say it," Feuilly tells him, and hands him the lights. "Every time I've tried stringing them before, Bahorel's always told me that the wires show too much. I never realised there was a fucking technique to it, but there you go."

With a small grin, Grantaire shakes his head. "Man, just stand back and let me teach you."

•••

It all starts when Feuilly says, "We're having a Christmas thing."

"A Christmas thing," Grantaire repeats, his heart sinking. Right. It's Christmas soon, and people tend to do things together. 

"Bahorel and Jehan are going to come over for Christmas lunch because our place is bigger. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," Grantaire mumbles, looking down at his plate. He tightens his grip on his fork, to hide the fact that he's suddenly not hungry. 

"Are you sure?" Feuilly watches him closely. "You're allowed to say no. You can stay home and I'll…"

Feuilly would stay home as well, because he wouldn't leave Grantaire alone. They both know this. Feuilly knows better than to pretend otherwise.

"It's fine," Grantaire says, shaking his head. "We'll do it. It's going to be fine. It's just Bahorel and Jehan, right?"

Grantaire hasn't met Jehan, not properly. He remembers being in the same room as him once, and not paying very much attention. He hadn't paid very much attention to anything back then, because he'd already made his plans by then. He hadn't thought that anything would matter for very long anyway. 

"Grantaire…"

"It's going to be my first Christmas away from my family," Grantaire says quietly. "So. You know. This one's automatically a million times better, no matter how it goes."

Feuilly smiles and Grantaire returns it, wishing it were really that easy.


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Grantaire says, draping himself over the single seater in Valjean's office once again, his legs swinging slightly. "Christmas."

His tone is casual and that's mostly because he's practiced that, saying the word over and over again until it's stopped making him feel nervous and uncomfortable, and then continued until it's stopped meaning anything. Feuilly says that it's called semantic satiation. The next word Grantaire's going to try it with is _family_.

Pity it doesn't make him _feel_ any less nervous. Valjean picks up on that, because _of course_ he sees through Grantaire's shit. It's part of the reason Grantaire likes him so much.

"Are you being asked to spend time with your parents?" Valjean asks. "Because I'm not entirely sure that's a good idea—"

"Nothing like that," Grantaire tells him. "If they asked, I wouldn't have gone anyway. They're not going to, though, so there's that."

"So what is this about?" Valjean asks, a slight frown on his face.

"Feuilly wants to have a thing for Christmas," Grantaire says to the ceiling. "We're going to have Bahorel and Jehan over. I don't know why it bothers me. I mean, it's going to be a hell of a lot better than spending Christmas stuck at home with my parents, right? It might even be the first holiday season ever that I don't spend convinced that I'm worth absolutely nothing. That has to count for something."

"But?" Valjean prompts.

"But my stupid fucking brain won't shut up about it," Grantaire sighs in frustration, shutting his eyes and tugging at his hair. "I'm going to meet Jehan properly for the first time, you know? And I don't know what to say—hi, I'm Grantaire. Sorry your boyfriend spends so much time away from the apartment you just moved into because he's too busy hanging out at his old place, treating me like I'm about to break. Sorry your boyfriend has nightmares of finding me half dead."

Valjean's reply is immediate. "He doesn't—"

"I overheard him telling Feuilly, okay?" Grantaire doesn't open his eyes, doesn't look at Valjean because he doesn't want to know what he'll see in his expression. "I couldn't get out of bed and they thought I was asleep. They were being quiet about it. I just didn't really have anything else to do but listen."

"Grantaire, I'm sorry—"

" _I'm_ the one that should be sorry," Grantaire mutters bitterly. "He's my best friend, and now he's all fucked up and it's my fault."

"Have you spoken to Bahorel about this?" Valjean asks.

"No. I don't even know how I'd bring it up." Grantaire frowns. "I don't think I want to do it _now_ either. Maybe I'll try getting through Christmas first without any huge problems and after that, I'll think about it."

Valjean nods. "That sounds like a good plan. Why don't we write that down in your notebook, so we don't forget?"

Grantaire does, with a rueful smile. He knows that Valjean isn't going to let him forget this. That's another thing Grantaire likes about him.

•••

Valjean is shutting the office down for two weeks over Christmas and the New Year. Two weeks isn't very long, in the grand scheme of things, but Grantaire sits in the waiting room, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, and tries not to look at the empty seat where Enjolras should be sitting.

Grantaire's half an hour early to his appointment and when he'd walked in, he'd expected to find Enjolras in his usual spot. Instead, he's nowhere to be seen, and Grantaire is angry at himself for how stupidly upset he is. 

It's been three weeks since they'd first introduced themselves to each other and they've spoken every week since then before Grantaire's gone in for his appointments, but they've been short conversations out of necessity, because they don't have very much time, because Enjolras will sometimes cut a conversation off with a shake of his head, wordlessly warning Grantaire that their little argument is about to become something else entirely. It's happened in two of the three conversations they've had so far, and Grantaire spends the rest of the time before his appointment sitting silently as Enjolras gets up and paces until he's calm again.

They've never really talked about holiday plans. Enjolras could be going home to his family. For all Grantaire knows, Enjolras might never be coming back, and that thought makes him feel utterly miserable.

He doesn't have long to dwell on the feeling before the door opens with a loud bang, followed by an even louder, blessedly familiar, voice. 

"I _told you_ that I'm not coming over," Enjolras is yelling into his phone. "I don't care how disappointed Father is. I have to go."

He's still standing in front of the reception desk, wearing his thick red coat. He fiddles with his phone, presumably turning it off, before he hangs his coat up on the rack by the door and gives Cosette a warm smile. "Good morning."

The smile he gives Grantaire is even warmer as he walks over, sitting down in his usual spot. "Hello. You're here early today. And I'm late."

"Family stuff?" Grantaire asks, and wrinkles his nose. "Family's the absolute worst. Especially at this time of the year. I'm glad that mine don't give enough of a shit about me to push for anything like that."

"You alone for Christmas then?" Enjolras asks with a light frown.

"I have a few friends I'm spending my time with instead," Grantaire replies. "Much better than forced family time."

"Me too," Enjolras tells him. "And I couldn't agree more."

Grantaire snorts quietly. "Would you look at that? We actually agree on something."

Enjolras chuckles at that. Grantaire would give a great many things to be able to hear that again. Then, with a conspiratorial smirk, Enjolras says, "The last time I allowed my parents to bully me into going home for the holidays, I ended up breaking my mother's favourite, ridiculously expensive vase. Among other things. They still bring it up when they're unhappy with me and yet somehow, they forget all about it when they try to convince me that I'll be making everyone happy by going home this time."

"Fuck that," Grantaire mutters, and it earns him yet another smile.

They swap stories about their families for so long that they both completely lose track of time, until Valjean clears his throat in front of them, a good ten minutes after Grantaire's appointment was meant to start.

"Shit," Grantaire mutters, scrambling to his feet. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise. I wanted to say that it's an extremely pleasant change to come out here to find that you aren't arguing with each other for once."

Grantaire and Enjolras exchange sheepish looks.

Valjean smiles at them both. "I thought I'd let you talk for a while, considering that you won't be running into each other here for the next fortnight while we're closed—"

" _Oh_ ," Enjolras says, taking his phone out of his pocket and trying to unlock it before growling in frustration when he realises that he'd turned it off before. He turns it back on, ignoring the message alerts he's greeted with, and looks at Grantaire. "I was meaning to ask you, actually…"

"Grantaire, I'll meet you in my office whenever you're ready," Valjean says, leaving them alone.

"I thought that if we're not going to see each other here for another two weeks, then perhaps we could exchange numbers." Enjolras' cheeks look pink, but Grantaire is certain that it's just his imagination. 

"Sure," Grantaire says, taking Enjolras' phone and typing his number into it. "Uh. Just send me a message or something so I know it's you, yeah?"

Enjolras nods, and Grantaire doesn't dare touch his phone as he walks into Valjean's office. He might spend roughly half of his session talking about Enjolras, but he doesn't even look at his phone until he's home, with his room door shut behind him.

There's one new message on his phone and Grantaire stares at the number for a long moment, as if he's not completely hopeless at remembering numbers, before opening it.

It simply reads: _The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb - my family loves it when I correct them on this quote._

Grantaire snickers, saving the number, and he's still grinning when he leaves his room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I was intending for this to just be a three-chaptered thing but this chapter got longer than I anticipated so I'm splitting it into two. Last bit will go up tomorrow!

It's difficult to get out of bed on Christmas morning, but Grantaire isn't surprised by that at all. Then again, Feuilly isn't either. They'd talked about this during the days leading up to now, about how Grantaire was worried, no matter how many times Feuilly assured him that everything would be okay, that it was just going to be a small, relaxed thing and that Grantaire doesn't have to feel like he's obligated to stay if he wants to go and sit in his room instead. 

Grantaire doesn't _want_ to do that, though. He doesn't want to make his friends make exceptions for him and tailor their plans to suit him, the way that they have been since Grantaire was discharged from the hospital—for longer than that, really, it's just that it's a lot more obvious to all of them these days.

He's still lying in bed when his phone buzzes, and he picks it up off his bedside table to see that Enjolras has sent him a message.

_I'm not allowed to help cook before our friends arrive because I get too agitated._

Grantaire snorts quietly and types, _Hey, at least you're trying to help. I'm still struggling to get out of bed._

Enjolras' reply is immediate. _Why is that?_

_I guess I just have a bad feeling about today. I don't want to ruin anyone's day._

This time, Enjolras takes longer to reply, and Grantaire's put his phone down, assuming he isn't going to reply at all, when it buzzes again. _I think you do the opposite. I think you make someone's day better by being in it._

That makes a small smile tug at the corners of Grantaire's mouth and he sits up in bed. _Thanks. I'm going to see if Feuilly needs help with anything. You stay out of trouble._

He doesn't see Enjolras' reply until he's showered and changed, and checks his phone once he's mixed Feuilly's cake batter, poured it into the tin and put it in the over. It simply says, _Please_ , but Grantaire can just imagine Enjolras saying it, and it makes him grin.

"You're in a good mood," Feuilly observes, with a smile.

Grantaire really isn't, but he's doing his very best to pretend, and Enjolras' messages are making it a little easier for him to do that.

"Bahorel and Jehan should be here soon, right?"

Feuilly nods, checking his watch. Knowing Bahorel, they'll probably arrive a little earlier than planned and true enough, there's a knock on the door a good twenty minutes before Bahorel said they'd arrive. Jehan is tiny beside Bahorel but then again, most people are. He's wearing a brightly coloured sweater with a Christmas tree on the front, a scarf with flowers patterned on it and a hat with a bell on it. Grantaire doesn't even know how, but not only does Jehan manage to pull it off, he makes it look _good_.

They're carrying bags of snacks, and wrapped presents that go straight under the tree.

"R, this is Jehan. Jehan, R." Bahorel introduces. He squeezes Jehan's hand. "I love you both, and I think you'll get along really well."

They smile at each other, but before Grantaire can even say a word, Bahorel steps closer to him and pulls him into a tight hug. He takes a breath, like he's about to say something, but remains silent. Grantaire holds him just as tightly in return, until Bahorel finally steps back, nodding at him. One day, they're going to need to have this conversation using actual words, but Grantaire is happy to keep postponing it for now.

"I'm going to sort the drinks out with Feuilly and we'll open presents soon, yeah?"

With that, he leaves Grantaire and Jehan standing in the lounge room, looking at each other. Grantaire gestures to the couch, and they sit beside each other on the three-seater, looking at the Christmas tree in silence until Jehan quietly clears his throat.

"I'm glad that I got to meet you," he murmurs, and Grantaire nods, grateful for all the things that Jehan has left unsaid. 

Grantaire clears his throat this time, looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," Jehan interrupts. He pulls the sleeve of his jumper up, so that Grantaire can see the pale scars on his skin. "You don't have to apologise, R. Not to me, not to anyone."

Grantaire lets out a small sigh. "You get it."

"I do." Jehan squeezes Grantaire's shoulder. "If you want to talk, that's fine. If you don't, that's fine too."

With a smile, Grantaire nods. "Thanks."

Bahorel comes out of the kitchen with Feuilly, both of them carrying two mugs of hot cider each, and smiles when he sees Grantaire and Jehan. Grantaire returns the smile, accepting his mug from Feuilly and shuffling over so the four of them can squeeze onto the three-seater together without spilling their drinks.

"So," Feuilly says, putting his mug down on the coffee table. "Presents."

"Jehan, you go first," Grantaire says, nudging him. "Because you're the newest."

Feuilly finds the present that he and Grantaire had bought together, based on Bahorel's recommendations, handing it to Jehan. It's a poorly wrapped pot of daisies, but Jehan's entire face lights up when he unwraps it anyway, like he hadn't been able to guess. 

"Oh, thank you! This is definitely going to brighten up the apartment a lot."

Bahorel unabashedly declares that he's already given Jehan his present—complete with a wink—and Feuilly more or less throws the wrapped boxing gloves that he and Grantaire had bought at him. Grantaire is already laughing, and when Jehan says that Bahorel's getting his present later with a sly grin, Grantaire only laughs harder.

Feuilly gets a suit that Grantaire, Bahorel and Jehan had all put money in for, that he's been eyeing for months. Grantaire is nervous about his own presents, because he has no idea what to expect, because back before his art block, he was easy to buy presents for because he was always needing more art supplies. Now, however…

"I hope you like it," Jehan says, passing him a brightly wrapped package, which turns out to be a scarf. It's soft and colourful, and as Grantaire puts it on, he realises that Jehan must have knitted it. 

"I love it," he murmurs, burrowing into it with a smile. "Thank you."

"Yeah, but wait until you see _my_ present," Bahorel says, and Grantaire ends up with another wrapped parcel in his lap.

It's a onesie, but it's a _dragon_ onesie, and Grantaire is incredibly disappointed that he can't go and change into it right now because it's quite possibly the best present ever.

"Well, my present doesn't quite measure up," Feuilly says, giving Grantaire a box, "but I hope it's useful anyway."

It's a thermos mug, because Grantaire had forgotten his at home when he'd moved out, and had never been particularly keen on going back for it. 

"Thank you," Grantaire says, and he means it. "Thanks for—for everything, I guess."

"C'mere," Bahorel murmurs, and they end up in one warm group hug. "We love you, okay?"

Bahorel doesn't say, _I'm glad you're still here with us_ , but he doesn't need to. Grantaire hugs back as tightly as he can manage.

Lunch is amazing, which is unsurprising because it's Feuilly's cooking. The cake turns out well, and Grantaire spends all of lunch and then the rest of the afternoon talking to Jehan. They get on the topic of art history, which is a lot easier to talk about than art itself, and then they start talking about literature, and Jehan's poetry, and every now and then, Grantaire will look up to catch Bahorel watching them with a smile. 

Grantaire gets a message from Enjolras not long after Bahorel and Jehan leave, in order to make it to Jehan's parent's house in time for dinner. _Hope your day is going well._

 _It is, actually_ , Grantaire types out. _Yours?_

_I was thinking of stepping out and leaving my friends to it for a while. You can say no if you want, but would you like to get coffee?_

Grantaire's heart beats faster as he reads the message, and then as he types out, _I don't think that there would be any cafés open today and if they were, I don't think I'd be able to get a word in edgewise while you ranted about the unfairness of emotionless capitalist giants take advantage of those who are desperate to work, to keep them away from their friends and families today to make them money._

_I've really missed talking to you. Do you have a thermos? We could meet in the park with our own coffee._

Snorting quietly, Grantaire types, _Just got a new one today, actually. You mean the park just across from the station?_

_That's the one. I'll see you in fifteen minutes?_

"Feuilly," Grantaire calls, pulling his coat on and going to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. "I'm going out for a while."

"What?" Feuilly asks. "On your own?"

"I'm going to meet Enjolras."

Feuilly frowns, looking for a moment like he's going to object. Instead, he simply says, "I'll give you a call in half an hour, okay?"

"Sure." With his mug in his hand and his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, Grantaire stops by Feuilly's side to squeeze his arm. "I meant what I said before. Thanks for everything. I know I don't make things easy for you."

Feuilly snorts quietly. "You're still easier to deal with than Bahorel. Then again, this is Bahorel we're talking about."

Grantaire laughs, walking to the door. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Enjoy yourself, Grantaire," Feuilly calls behind him and as Grantaire walks down the stairs and onto the street, he realises that he is looking forward to seeing Enjolras again.


	4. Chapter 4

It's freezing outside, but at least it's not snowing, the way it was earlier when Bahorel and Jehan were over. There's enough snow on the ground that Grantaire has to pick his path through it carefully, his chin tucked into the scared that Jehan gave him.

Enjolras is easy enough to spot in his red coat and blond hair, even from under the black beanie he's wearing. He smiles when he sees Grantaire, walking towards him. A simple smile shouldn't mean as much to Grantaire as it does. It's been a long day, Grantaire reasons with himself. He's done much better than he'd expected of himself. He's allowed this.

"Grantaire," Enjolras greets with a smile, which grows wider when Grantaire taps their thermoses together. "I'm glad that you could come out to see me."

"My weeks just feel off without seeing you in Valjean's waiting room," Grantaire tells him, and he tries to keep his tone casual, but he's not entirely sure he succeeds. He no longer has those few minutes with Enjolras to look forward to, but he doesn't quite say that aloud. 

Perhaps he doesn't have to, judging by the way Enjolras smiles at him. "I know what you mean."

"I. Um. I got you a thing," Grantaire mumbles, reaching into his bag. He feels ridiculous about it, but he'd been in a bookstore the other day and had seen a book of essays written by George Orwell, and his first thought was that Enjolras would probably like it. He's nervous even as he hands it over, despite the way that even without unwrapping it, Enjolras is already looking at it like it's the best thing he's received all day—unlikely as that probably is.

"I got something for you as well," Enjolras replies, and gives Grantaire a flat package wrapped in red paper. 

Grantaire desperately hopes that Enjolras just assumes that the blush on his face is due to the cold, and not the fact that they're out here in the middle of a park exchanging gifts. "Open them together?" 

"Yeah," Enjolras agrees, and tears into the wrapping paper.

Grantaire feels like he has to be more careful as he unwraps the present from Enjolras. If Enjolras had taken the time to wrap it, then Grantaire doesn't want to let that go to waste, even though he has no idea what he's going to do with the paper once he's neatly pulled all the tape apart and folded it up, but he puts it into his bag anyway. He takes his time unwrapping it, because he's too busy focusing on Enjolras, waiting for his reaction to his present.

"I've always been meaning to read these," Enjolras murmurs, turning the book over and reading the back of it. He looks up at Grantaire with a big smile. "Thank you so much. Do you like yours?"

Grantaire finally looks down at what he's holding, and his chest tightens when he realises that it's a sketchbook.

"I remember you mentioning that you did art before, so…" Enjolras trails off with a frown. "I've upset you. Was I wrong?"

"No… no, you're right," Grantaire mumbles, running his thumb over the rough, black cover of the sketchbook. "I did art. I—it's a long story."

"I have time," Enjolras replies. "We can sit down?"

"Yeah," Grantaire snorts, "this is definitely one of those _you might want to sit down_ kinds of talks."

Enjolras doesn't even hesitate before walking over to one of the benches in the park, using his gloved hands to push the snow off the surface. Grantaire laughs softly.

"Maybe we'll just walk instead. The footpath around the park has been shovelled. You don't mind walking around in circles, do you?"

"You lead and I'll follow," Enjolras tells him and then blinks, as if the thought is as unusual to him as it is to Grantaire. 

They start walking and Grantaire takes a moment to gather his thoughts, to figure out how he's going to begin. With a deep breath, he says, "A couple of months ago, I tried killing myself."

Enjolras looks up at him immediately and Grantaire catches the movement from the corner of his eye but he doesn't look back, because he doesn't want to see the expression on Enjolras' face. He continues talking. "Tried, because it didn't work. Obviously. Because I'm still here. My best friend found me and—he wasn't meant to. Back then, I wanted to be _dead_ and if it weren't for Bahorel…"

"Sounds like I owe a lot to this Bahorel," Enjolras says quietly. "Though I wish that you hadn't—"

Grantaire cuts him off with a snort. "If I hadn't tried killing myself, I don't think we would have even met. You wouldn't be thanking Bahorel for anything."

"That doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"What, and you think _I'm_ happy about the fact that I was in the kind of position where killing myself sounded like my best option?" Grantaire doesn't raise his voice, but it's a close thing. With a loud sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look. The point is, I'm not actively planning my death any more. That's improvement, right?"

Enjolras opens his mouth, shuts it, and then settles for saying, "That's good to know."

"There were a whole bunch of things that led to it," Grantaire says, taking a long sip out of his thermos. "I'm definitely not saying it _started_ with the art block, because things were already bad way before that, but then I couldn't draw any more, and I couldn't cope, and I couldn't stay in school, and it was just one thing after another…"

"You keep mentioning your friends. Weren't they there for you?"

"That's a stupid question, of course they were." Grantaire ignores the way that Enjolras bristles, and keeps talking. "But the thing about help, or support, or any of that, is that you need to _accept_ it, for it to do any good. I didn't want to burden them. I didn't think there was any way of actually _fixing_ things so I didn't want my friends to try, because at least that way, we were spared the disappointment when it didn't work. Valjean keeps using words like self-sabotage and self-fulfilling prophecies, and basically… yeah. That was me."

"The sketchbook—"

"It's not going to make me relapse, if that's what you're worried about," Grantaire assures him. "It can join the pile of all my other art supplies, sitting in the corner of my room until I finally get over this and start drawing again."

"Just as long as the sketchbook is there when you need it," Enjolras says. "Whenever you're ready."

Grantaire smiles, and that's when his phone starts ringing. He gives Enjolras an apologetic look before lifting his phone to his ear. "Fuck's sake, Feuilly, you said half an hour."

"It _has been_ half an hour," Feuilly replies and unlike Bahorel, he generally tends to stick to the times he tells Grantaire, even now. "I guess time flies when you're having fun."

"Something like that," Grantaire mutters. "Look, everything's fine. You don't need to worry. I'll give you a call when I'm heading back, if you want."

"If you want," Feuilly replies calmly. "You aren't that far away, and you're a big boy now."

"Thanks for noticing," Grantaire replies dryly. "Think you can convince Bahorel?"

Grantaire knows that it's up to _him_ to convince Bahorel, and that it's going to take a long time. Thankfully, Feuilly doesn't point any of this out, and simply says, "I'll see you when you get home, okay? Have fun."

When Grantaire hangs up, he notices that Enjolras is typing away on his phone too. "Checking in the keepers, huh?"

"They're not—" Enjolras begins, but cuts himself off when he realises that Grantaire's not being serious. With a heavy sigh, he indicates his phone with a small wave. "Combeferre wanted to know that everything's okay. He worries for me a lot."

"Same with Feuilly and Bahorel," Grantaire says. "I hate it."

Enjolras hums in agreement. "I hate the fact that they're constantly worried."

"That no news means bad news," Grantaire adds. Then, with a quiet laugh, says, "Okay, I can see why in my case, but—"

Grantaire falls silent when Enjolras takes one of his gloved hands in his own. The look Enjolras is giving him makes him want to melt to the ground. He miraculously manages not to.

"I'm not happy about any of the circumstances that led to us meeting in Valjean's waiting room," Enjolras tells him seriously. "But I am incredibly glad that I have you in my life."

Grantaire is at a complete loss for words, but manages to choke out a, "Me too."

Then he doesn't need to say anything else, because Enjolras is leaning in to press a light kiss to Grantaire's lips.

"Enjolras—"

" _Fuck_ , sorry. Impulse control. I'm getting better at that, I just—"

"I'm really fucking messed up," Grantaire warns. "Messed up doesn't even _begin_ to cover it."

Enjolras huffs quietly, and Grantaire can't quite tell if he's impatient or just amused. "I'm not exactly the most balanced person either."

"That's my point exactly. This could be—bad. Disastrous. Apocalyptic."

"I want to kiss you again," Enjolras says quietly. 

"Fuck, yes." 

They're both smiling as they kiss this time, their lips cold and the tips of their noses even colder as they brush against each other. 

Enjolras is still smiling when he murmurs, "I should probably head off now. Check on Combeferre and Courfeyrac for a change. I'll message you."

Grantaire can only nod silently, and he smiles the entire way home.


End file.
